


Inflorescence

by Dead_walking



Category: The Expanse (TV)
Genre: M/M, Plant talk, pre ship but can we read with shipping goggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-24 04:47:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9702893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dead_walking/pseuds/Dead_walking
Summary: For the Expanse Valentine's Day Exchange





	

> _Inflorescence: several flowers closely grouped together to form an efficient structured unit_

The interruption comes in the form of Amos, which is hardly surprising given the fact that they are sharing a bunk. Were Prax in a more stable mind, he’s certain he wouldn’t have missed the hiss of air as the doors slid open, or jumped at the sound of a voice rough from lack of sleep. With things as they are, Prax forgives himself the oversight, even if he can’t quite meet Amos’ gaze because of it.

“Have you eaten since we stationed?” Amos asks from the doorway. His body takes up the majority of the opening as he leans against the frame with his hands casually tucked inside his pockets. Prax isn’t sure what Amos does throughout the day, but checking in on Prax has become part of the routine in the three days since they’ve been stationed on Tycho.

Prax stops himself from responding, instantly drawn to the dark stains that are coating the faded green of the mechanic’s uniform. Just weeks ago, Prax would be able to look down and see similar stains coating the cuffs of his lab coat, sometimes clinging to the grooves of his skin when he opted to not wear gloves. Instead of the rich smell of soil that clung to his knuckles like a second layer of skin, the smell is artificial, hinting of metal and the darkness of space.

What Prax would do to trade it for the organic scent of his dome. But his dome, like the rest of his life, crashed around him. As with most organisms facing a catastrophe, Prax could either adapt to the change around him, or die and be replaced by something hardier, something that could withstand the effects of change. Something, or someone, rather, like Amos, who assimilates so easily to Tycho, spending his nights absorbed in the nightlife the station has to offer, and judging by the stains on his clothes, working on the _Rocinante_ without a moment’s pause during the day. 

Leaning further against the wall, Prax lifts his head until he’s staring at the low dim emitting from a light mounted above him. “Have you heard of the Multiple Ecosystem Services Experiment?” He asks offhandedly, already picturing the way Amos’ mouth is moving to answer ‘no.’ He continues before Amos can say anything: “It was something I was working on before the mirrors fell.” Mirrors that helped cultivate every seedling Prax planted in the domes only to turn around and destroy everything.

He doesn’t look at Amos, but he hears the rustle of fabric from the doorway, the unconscious shift from one foot to the other. “Honestly, doesn’t sound like something I’d waste my time studying,” he answers easily enough.

Prax hums, or maybe he laughs. “Most people wouldn’t. But my team, we found it fascinating. Our goal was to find out if various combinations of plants could influence ecosystems enough to produce more effective nutrient cycles. The trick, of course, was to maintain the biodiversity of our trial zones.”

“Not to cut the botany lesson short, doc, but-"

“Mixtures containing nitrogen-fixed species thrived,” Prax powers through, remembering the creature they found on the Roci; huddled in on itself, absorbing enough energy to heal itself. “Others though, others failed to thrive entirely. Bankasia Sessilis,” Prax begins, “Hakea lissocarpha,” he trails off, thinking about the woman holding a pizza box and missing a jaw, he thinks of Mei, without her medication, he thinks of himself, uprooted from his dome and brought here, just like he tried to bring one soybean off Ganymede only to have it wither and die.

Prax can already feel the effects of his new environment stealing the little nutrients his body is fighting to preserve. Every new day, every burn that makes him swear his eyes are going to sink into the back of his skull, every time he wakes up only to remember he was too late to save Mei, is sucking him dry like a parasite. He wonders, briefly, how long it will take before he dries out completely. 

Rolling his head against the wall until it’s angled enough to look at Amos, Prax is taken aback by the look understanding on his face. “Look,” Amos says, and for the second time, Prax is caught off guard by his voice, this time, by the honesty. “I get it,” Amos echoes for a countless time. “It ain’t easy getting caught up in this shit, especially with your little girl still out there. Thing is, it ain’t gonna make it any easier if you’re not functioning at full capacity. And the thing is, if you’re not functioning at full capacity, you’re putting the crew, and your girl, at risk. You already got us in one situation that could have ended with someone dying, I can’t have you getting us into another. So you’re going to eat, and you’re going to leave this room before you go crazy.”

Amos moves then, narrowing the distance between himself and Prax with an ease that seems at odds with his bulk. Like everything else about Amos, it throws Prax off balance. Logic dictates that Prax should distance himself, recoil until he regains his equilibrium, but he’s become comfortable with Amos in ways his logical mind can’t account for. So when Amos pulls a protein pack from a cargo pocket, Prax doesn’t hesitate to reach out and grab it.

“Hey,” Amos says, setting a hand onto Prax’s shoulder. And there it is again, the weight that he’s coming to associate with space travel, only Tycho’s gravitational pull shouldn’t impact the feeling of Amos’ hand on his shoulder. But there it is, heavy and solid, an anchor that’s keeping Prax from floating away. “You with me?”

Prax looks from the protein pack to Amos before nodding his head. “Yes,” he answers, voice sticking around the gratitude that’s blossoming in the base of his throat. “Thank you,” Prax says, but it sounds like a whisper. He doesn’t add: _for insisting Mei’s alive, for keeping Prax together when all he wants to do is fall apart, for everything_ , but he doesn’t think he needs to.

Prax may not have been able to save anything from his dome, but he’s going to save Mei, if only because Amos is standing behind him, watching over him like Prax tried to watch over his soybean. Amos though, Amos won't let him fail. Instead, he simply nods, quick and easy. 

“Don’t mention it," Amos responds, "It’s what we do.”

**Author's Note:**

> For the Expanse Valentine's Day Exchange


End file.
